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A    DREAM    OF    LILIES 


©ream 

of 


g. 


Copyright,   1893. 
By  J.  O.  CUPPLES  COMPANY 


All  rig/its  reserved. 


f0e    stoeef   memory   of 
mg   sister   igefena 
ioas    faften    from   earf^ 
in   f0e   springtime   of   0er   gears 
ano   f^    fieaufg  of   0er   innocence 
f^e  feorb  )oenf  fcoisn  info  gis   garben 
to   gather   fifies. 


A  DREAM  OF  LILIES 

INADEQUATE 

LOST  LABOR 

OLD  YEAR'S  GHOST'S  AT  NEW  YEAR'S 

A  CONVERT 

NEW  LAND  AND  NEW  LIFE 

THE  KINGS  AND  THE  STAR 

A  BRAVE  MAN'S  HOPE 

A  PRAYER  OF  SHADOWED  HEARTS 

CHRIST  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

"  BEHOLD,  THY  KING  COMETH  " 

CONSUMMATUM  EST 

CHRIST  AND  THE  MOURNERS 

AT  A  GRAVE  ON  EASTER-DAY 

NOT  OUT  OF  SIGHT 

(v.) 


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THE  PRAYER  OF  ST.   BERNARD  OF  CLAIRVAUX 

THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  SACRED  HEART 

LOTUS  AND  LILY 

TRUCE  . 

IN  SIGHT  OF   HOME 

CHOSEN  . 

VANQUISHED     (For  a  JVitti's  Profession} 
MY  FATHER'S  HOUSE 

MISPRIZED  .... 

AN  ALTAR-LAMP  . 

A  LIFE'S  REGRET 

A  CHRISTMAS    RHYME 

"  YE  DID  IT  UNTO  ME  " 

RENDING  THE  VEIL 

THE  SHRINE  PROFANED 

THE  HEAVIEST  CROSS  OF  ALL 

THE  CHRISTMAS  THORN 

SUCCESS  . 

COLUMBUS,  THE  KXIGHT  OF   FAITH 

IN  THANKSGIVING 


29 

3° 
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63 


§V  grcam  of 

SHE  dreamed  that  on  a  hilltop  bright  and  stilly, 
A  garden  girt  with  thorny  hedges  grew, 

Wherein  no  flower  bloomed  but  the  pure  white  lily  ; 
Over  it  smiled  far  Heaven  serene  and  blue, 
And  fair,  all  fair, 

Lilies  and  buds  and  leaves  beyond  compare. 

And  many  a  morn  she  sought  that  garden  gladly 
To  gaze  upon  the  lilies  sheltered  there ; 

And,  when  the  shadows  lengthened,  left  it  sadly, 
Sighing,  "  Would  it  were  opened  to  my  prayer  !  " 
Alas,  Alas  ! 

The  piercing  thorns  kept  guard — she  could  not  pass. 

Not  dulled  by  cold  delay,  but  fiercer  growing, 

Her  longing  and  her  yearning — quenchless  fire — 
Till  flesh  and  spirit,  all  entranced,  were  glowing 
With  the  resistless  flame  of  her  desire. 
,        And  then,  one  day, 

It  burned  through  circling  thorns  her  eager  way. 
(0 

W-  > 

«t 


Out  of  her  glad  heart  singing  swift  she  entered, 
Nor  recked  she  of  the  earth-life's  drear  eclipse — 

When  lo  !  on  One  her  tranced  gaze  was  centered, 
And  the  song  faltered  on  her  trembling  lips — 
k"  Oh,  who  art  Thou 

With  loving,  sorrowful  eyes  and  kingly  brow  ? 

Oh,  who  art  Thou  among  the  lilies  dwelling, 

Looking  with  tenderest  pity  upon  me, 
In  majesty  the  sons  of  men  excelling  ; 

Where'er  Thou  movest,  see,  how  joyfully 

Upon  their  stem 
The  lilies  tremble  as  Thou  smilest  on  them  ! 

"  Oh,  give  me  of  Thy  lilies,  I  entreat  Thee — 

Here  I  would  hide  me  from  earth's  gaud  and  glare, 

And  at  the  gates  of  Life  Unending  meet  Thee, 
Bearing  the  lily-bloom  unstained  and  fair," 
— Then,  murmured  He, 

"  Wouldst  bear  the  lily,  thou  must  follow  me. 

"  And,  oh,  remember  that  the  way  is  dreary, 

Thorn-strewn  and  rough  where'er  thy  feet  are  pressed  ; 
And  often  thou  wilt  falter  and  be  weary, 


And  then  there  will  be  none  to  bid  thee  rest." 

— But  still,  she  said, 
"  Oh,  let  me  follow  whither  Thou  hast  led. 

"  I  care  not  though  all  sorrows  press  upon  me  ; 

Darkness  nor  storm  no  more  affrighteth  me  ; 
For  Thine  exceeding  loveliness  hath  won  me, 

And  all  things  are  as  naught  except  for  Thee — 

And,  even  so, 
Whither  Thou  goest,  Beloved,  I  will  go." 

Then  from  its  stem  He  brake  a  fair  white  lily 
Dew-gemmed  and  fragrant,  and  He  gave  it  her — 

There  in  His  blessed  garden,  bright  and  stilly — 
And  she  sank  breathless ;  then  light  winds  astir, 
And,  instant  shone 

A  deeper  glory-light — and  He  was  gone. 

Gone,  too,  the  lily-garden  erst  so  blooming, 
Gray  was  the  sky  above  and  chill  the  air, 
And  the  bleak  earth  the  joy  of  life  entombing, 
No  trace  of  vanished  flower  or  leafage  bare. 

And  all  alone, 

She  wept  the  bliss  foregone  she  might  have  known. 
(3) 


"  Oh,  maiden,  for  thine  answered  prayer  art  grieving  ?  " 
Spake  a  clear  voice.     Then  she  beheld  afar 

An  angel  with  white  wings  the  still  air  cleaving — • 
And  on  his  brow  there  blazed  a  radiant  star 
Nigher  and  nigher, 

He  came,  and  held  unsheathed  a  sword  of  fire. 

"  Love  bade  thee  choose  the  lilies,  rise  and  cheer  thee. 

Love  bids  me  guard  thee  ;  lo  !    L  walk  beside, 
Unseen,  henceforth,  though  ever,  ever  near  thee." 

"  And  will  thou  never  leave  me,  then  ? "   she  cried. 

— "  Wilt  surely  stay  ?  " 
"Lo,  I  am  with  thee  till  thy  dying  day." 

But  though  she  rose,  her  will  to  Heaven  resigning, 

And  though  the  task  God  gave  her  was  undone — 
For  that  dear  Visible  Presence  she  was  pining — 
"  Naught,"  she  said,  "  gladdens  me  beneath  the  sun. 

When  shall  I  see 
Mine  own  Beloved  in  Eternity." 


She  woke.      Sad  dreams  and  glad  alike  have  ending, 

And  oft  we're  fain  to  weep  when  glad  ones  go, 

(4) 


But  since  her  dream  a  strange,  sweet  'peace  is  blending 
With  all  her  work  and  will— and  even  so— 

She's  fain  to  deem 
The  lily  garden  was  not  all  a  dream. 


(5) 


THE  least  of  loving  is  in  having,  dear  ; 

To-morrow  you  will  wake  to  weariness, 
And  shrink,  betimes,  in  heart-sickness  and  fear, 

Ah,  woe  !  from  hands  that  now  you'd  kneel  to  kiss. 
You'll  wake  to  your  life-dream  fulfilled,  aghast ; 
Would  God  this  dream,  as  other  dreams,  had  passed  ! 

The  least  of  loving  is  in  having.     Light 

Night  with  a  firefly  ;  quench  the  flame  that  glows 

From  thirst  for  the  Exhaustless,  Infinite, 

With  the  small  dewdrop  in  the  heart  of  a  rose. 

The  best  of  loving  will  be  having,  never, 

Till,  having  All,  you're  sure  of  it  Forever  ! 


Oh,  Giver  of  all  good  gifts !     What  render  we 

Again  to  Thee  of  all  Thy  hands  have  given  ? 

What  hast  Thou  of  our  strength,  O  God  in  Heaven  ? 

Thou  gavest  the  singing  voice — what  songs  for  Thee  ? 

When  most  we  fear  Thee,  a  presumptuous  leaven 

Pervadeth  all  our  prayer.     Or,  niggardly, 

We  grudge  Thee  what  a  friend  hath  full  and  free, 

A  thought  at  dawn  of  day,  a  word  at  even. 

Lose  not  your  patient  sweat,  O  fashioners 

With  plane,  or  drill,  or  chisel — though  the  men 

Of  fairer  face  and  softer  hands  forget. 

They  err,  but  the  All-Knowing  never  errs. 

What  matter,  when  the  work's  done,  plane  or  pen, 

So  the  heart's  will  to  God's  dear  Will  was  set ! 


Who  gathereth  not  with  me,  he  scattereth  ; 
Who  standeth  not  with  me,  against  me  stands — 

(7) 


Beating  the  air  with  unavailing  hands  ; 

His  work  is  idleness,  his  life  is  death — 

So  warnest  Thou,  Christ,  Lord  of  all  lives  and  lands, 

In  whom  our  hope,  yea,  even  our  daily  breath. 

Oh,  what  men's  praise  ? — a  wind  that  fluttereth 

The  choking,  blinding,  burning  desert  sands 

Oh,  what  avails  it  that  is  not  for  Thee, 

That  spreads  not  every  day  the  boundaries 

Of  Thine  Earth-Kingdom  ;  sets  thy  flag  aflame 

On  farther  heights  and  headlands  ?     Oh,  that  we 

Should  lose  for  paltriest  seeming  all  that  is, 

For  time's  exalting,  risk  eternal  shame ! 


at  gnv 


A  HAPPY  NEW  YEAR  and  many  !  "  —  one    or  ten  or  a 


Till  the   old   life's   done   and   the   new   begun   where  we 
reckon  by  years  no  more  ! 

'Twere  sweet  to  rest  nor  question,  here  at  the  fateful  gate. 
Unmindful    of    the  years  gone  by,  as    of  the  years   that 
wait. 

Oh,  but  the  dead,  lost  years  to-night,  like  souls  in  drearest 

pain, 
Grieve   for    all   life's    vain    vigils,    vain    love    and   labor 

vain. 

"  Where  are  the  crowns  of  glory  our  pallid  brows  should 

wear  ? 
Where  the  immortal  fruitage  our  empty  hands  should 

bear? 

(9) 


Where  are  the  songs  of  triumph  it  should  be  ours  to  sing  ? 
What  shall  we  plead   for  you  and  for  us  when  we  come 
before  the  King  ? 

Redeem  us,  oh,  redeem  us  !  and  if  you  will — ah,  well, 
The  time  that    is  left  is  so  short  at  best  that  every  day 
must  tell. 

Late,  seeing  the  end  of  the   world   in  your   fair   shrines 

lightning-riven, 
In  the   signs  in  the  sun   and  moon,  in  the   stars  that  fell 

from  Heaven — 

Stricken,  shattered,  sore-hearted,  you  shrank  from  the  eyes 

of  men, 
Moaning,    '  O   God  !    is    Heaven    the    chance    to    begin 

again  ?  ' 

But  lo  !  the   love   of  His  Heart   and  the  mercy   of  His 

ways, 
To   whom    the   days  are  as  ages,    and  the   ages  but   as 

days 

(10) 


Again    the    New     Year     dawneth— again    the    wondrous 

grace — 
And  still  in  your  hands  our  ransom  you  hold  for.  a  little 

space. 

But  one  year  more,  or  many? — the  time  is  short  at  best, 
Redeem   us,    oh,   redeem  us  !    the  restless  dead    would 
rest." 


^  Convert 

PRAISE  !   Friend,  in  sooth, 
You  do  me  grievous  wrong. 

I  had  my  youth, 

Yea,  and  my  youth  was  long. 

Fame,  beauty,  gold, 

Lovers — a  score. 
What  lips  so  bold 

As  whisper  change  in  store, 

Fell  a  dark  clay 

My  pleasant  paths  across, 
Love  fled  away 

From  pain,  and  shame,  and  loss. 

Passed  from  friends'  ken 
Alone  the  thorns  I  trod  ; 

All  failed — and  then 
I  gave  myself  to  God. 

(12) 


Oh,  my  short  years, 

With  lost  years  to  retrieve ; 
Oh,  wasted  tears, 

Now  real  griefs  are  to  grieve. 

Praise  !  win  me  grace 

From  my  past's  accusing  eyes. 
Praise  !  hide  my  face 

From  Angels'  sad  surprise. 


gTanfl  and  |Uw 


Behold,  your  quest  is  ended, 

And  the  New  Land  strange  and  splendid, 
No  longer  luring  from  afar,  is  firm  beneath  your  tread  ; 

And  the  way  is  free  before  ye, 

The  skies  unclouded  o'er  ye, 

And  the  past  is  dust  and  darkness,  and  the  dead  have 
earthed  their  dead. 


Raise  your  cross  and  raise  your  altar, 

Why  shrink  ye  thus,  and  falter  ? 

Are   ye    men,  or  love-lorn  maidens  ?  ye  late   were   stern 
and  brave. 

What's  worth  a  strong  man's  weeping  ? 

The  New  Land  hath  in  keeping — 
Guerdon  for  valiant  battle  that  the  Old  Land  never  gave. 

Have  done  with  fruitless  yearning, 
Know  ye  not  there's  no  returning  ? 

04) 


The  wrathful  sea's  between  ye  and  your  far-off  fatherland. 

The  worst  it  threatens  brave  ye? 

Now  from  yourselves  I  save  ye — 

Lo,    the  ships   that  brought  ye   hither   ablaze    upon  the 
strand. 


('5) 


<Thc 


and  the 


WE  have  seen  His  Star  in  the  East,  and  arc  come  to  adore 

Him, 

King  of  the  kings  of  the  earth,  and  who  is  before  Him  ? 
Show  us  where  He  abideth  —  love  without  measure 
We  would  lay  at  His   royal  feet  with   the  wealth  of   our 

treasure. 


Long  have  we  followed  the  Star,  and  at  last  it  is  resting 


Over  yon 


We  are  slow  for  all  of  our  hasting. 


Minutes  move  leaden-winged  when  the  quest  is  ending, 
And  the  mists  melt   slow   that   show  faith  and  fulfilment 
blending. 


But  is  it  for  this  we've  left  power  and  place  and  treasure — 
The  clinging  wives   and  the  little   ones,  the  paths   of  our 

kingly  pleasure  ? 

Oh,  the  changing  and  losing  and  dying  ere  our  returning! 
Naught  to  be  ours  as  of  old,  for  all  of  our  yearning. 

(ifi) 


King  ? — A  weakling  babe — Queen-mother  ? — a  maiden 
lowly — 

Palace  ?   A  cave  in  the  rock.    Yet,  Lord  Almighty,  All-holy, 

We  see  through  the  veils ;  thou  art  King  and  none  is  be 
fore  Thee, 

And  we've  seen  Thy  Star  in  the  East,  and  are  come  to 
adore  Thee. 

What  shall  we  have,  great  King,  for  our  thrones  for 
saken  ? — 

Sudden  their  lips  are  mute  and  their  spirits  shaken. 

Is  it  the  Christ-Child's  answer  ?  are  they  divining 

Aught  of  a  coming  woe  in  His  eyes'  clear  shining  ? 
*  *  # 

Ah,  beyond  the  hearts  of  rock,  love's  patient  labor  defying, 

Beyond  the  sword  and  the  block,  and  the  pangs  of  the  mar 
tyrs'  dying, 

They  followed  the  Star  again,  and  again  they  found  the 
King; 

But  now  to  share  in  the  glory  of  His  endless  triumphing. 


gt  grave 

From  the  French  of  Louis  Veuillot. 

I  HOPE  in  Thee,  O  Christ ;  on  earth  I  never 
Blushed  for  Thy  Cross  nor  Thee  ; 

And  on  the  Judgment  Day,  before  Thy  Father, 
Thou  wilt  not  blush  for  me. 


grajjcr  of 


THE  grief,  long  dreaded,  nears  us.     Mother,  see  ! 

How  the  weird  shadows  hide  the  sun's  warm  glow  ! 

Ah,  by  thine  own  unutterable  woe, 
When  the  sharp  sword  of  Simeon's  prophecy 
Rended  the  veil  'twixt  Calvary  and  thee, 

And  then  transpierced  thy  soul  ;  —  (for,  even  so 

Our  shrinking  and  our  shuddering  dost  thou  know!) 
Comfort  us  with  thy  pity  motherly, 
And  make  us  wise  in  time.     Too  oft,  alas  ! 

The  mercy  of  God's  sword  we  would  not  see, 
Nor  His  supreme  love-token  in  the  Cross, 
We  blindly  let  the  hours  of  sorrow  pass 

Void  of  fruition  for  eternity,  — 

The  while  the  wondering  angels  wept  our  loss. 


(U/hvtet  in  the 


THOU  hast  gone  out  from  Nazareth's  shelter  sweet, 
From  Mary's  mother-love,  so  pure,  complete, 
Over  a  long  and  drear  and  perilous  way, 
Into  the  wilderness  to  fast  and  pray. 
Wherefore,  my  God,  must  all  this  anguish  be  ?  — 
Meekly  Thou  answerest  —  "  For  thee,  for  thee." 

Art  Thou  not  weary  of  the  desert  bare  — 
The  rock  and  sand  and  sun,  the  blistering  air? 
Were  not  the  rivulet  to  Thy  parched  lips  balm  ? 
Yearnest  Thou  not  for  the  green,  sheltering  palm  ? 
Art  Thou  not  lonely,  dearest  Lord,  —  ah,  me  ! 
Though  hosts  of  angels  bear  Thee  company  ? 

One  slender  shade  is  in  the  desert-land, 
The  shadow  of  the  Cross  athwart  the  sand  : 
But  sharp  and  clear  and  present  to  Thine  eyes, 
The  awful  agonies  of  Calvary  rise. 
The  Cross's  shadow  greateneth  for  me  — 
Ah,  but  the  cruel  nails  are  all  for  Thee  ! 

(20) 


O  mystery  of  untold  tenderness — 
A  boundless,  shoreless  sea  Thy  love's  excess ! 
O  I  could  weep  methinks  in  Heaven  above 
To  see  my  Maker  pleading  so  for  love  ! 
Tempted  and  tried  and  sorrowing  for  me — 
Lord,  can  Thy  lowliest  do  aught  for  Thee? 


O  DRESS  thy  tent  with  lilies  and  with  palms, 
Robe  thee  in  marriage-raiment  white  and  holy, 

And  greet  His  coming  with  rejoicing  psalms, 

Who  hath  not  scorned  to  choose  a  bride  so  lowly  ! 

Go  forth,  upon  His  pathway  gladly  flinging 

All  the  poor  treasures  thou  hast  deemed  so  fair; 

Behold  !  He  cbmeth  from  the  Orient,  bringing 
Sceptre  and  crown  for  His  beloved  to  share. 

O  favored  one  !  all  lesser  loves  forsaking 

(Frail  must  they  seem  to  thee,  and  cold  and  dim,) 

Fly  to  thy  King,  nor  falter,  swiftly  breaking 

The  bonds  that  strive  to  hold  thee  back  from  Him. 

But  thou  art  silent ;  love,  perchance,  doth  still  thee 
In  trance  ecstatic,  deepening  more  and  more  ; 

Yet  bliss  diviner  draweth  near  to  thrill  thee — 

The  King's  bright  heralds  pass  thy  threshold  o'er. 

(22) 


Why,  on  thy  marriage-day,  in  mourning  languish  ? 

Lo,  He  is  come  at  last,  thy  Spouse,  thy  King  ! 
Why  look  on  Him  in  white  and  wordless  anguish  ? 

Why  weep  ?     Those  tears  are  not  love's  welcoming. 

His  sad  eyes  meet  thine  own,  in  mercy  heeding 

Thy  soul's  wild  agony  reflected  there, 
Shrink'st  thou  because    His    fair  white  brow  is    bleeding 

Under  the  royal  crown  His  bride  must  share  ? 

Shrink'st  thou  because  His  choice  means  pain  unspoken, 
Shadows  and  tears,  dread  changes,  bitter  loss, 

The  sword  unsheathed,  sweet  bonds  forever  broken  ? 
Shrink'st  thou  because  His  sceptre  is  a  cross  ? 


Do  I  wake  or  dream  !     Is  it  sight  or  seeming? 
Dying — the  sword  uplift  and  gleaming  ? 

I  am  fair  and  strong. 

I  had  planned  me  a  day  serene  and  long. 
Is  it  ended  quite — 
Planning  and  labor  and  love's  delight  ? 

O  Lord,  Life-Giver.  Life-Cherisher,  see 

The  little  lives  that  have  need  of  me, 

Hearts  bound  in  mine. 

By  the  love  of  that  human  Heart  of  Thine, 
Tender  for  all, 
The  awful  word  of  Thy  power  recall. 

My  kindred  dear 

Are  not  in  Heaven,  but  all,  all  here — 
Oh,  much  to  live  for  and  much  to  love, 
Hast  Thou  given  me,  God  above ! 
Over  and  done  ! 

Why,  the  best  of  my  life  is  but  just  begun. 
'  (24) 


Not  yet  at  its  noon 

The  sun  of  my  summer-time — soon,  too  soon, 
Thou  art  calling  me. 

0  Lord  of  Time  and  Eternity, 
What  are  a  score  of  years  to  Thee  ? 

Stay  the  hand  on  the  dial — 
Nay,  no  denial  ! 

1  would  live,  I  would  live — I've  lived  true  to  Thee- 
Have  pity  on  me  ! 

***** 

No  respite,  none  ! 

Then,  God,  if  it  must  be,  Thy  will  be  done. 
Ah  me  !  Ah  me  ! 
Through  the  dusk  of  this  drear  eclipse  I  see 

The  dear,  dead  Christ, 

For  me  and  my  Heaven  sacrificed, 
White  on  the  Cross  the  Atonement  dread 
Consummated. 

Let  me  hide  my  face  in  the  dust  at  His  feet 

Wrhile  the  last  hours  fleet. 
I  will  trust  His  love  for  the  life  that's  done, 
And  the  life  begun. 


(25) 


(fhvtet  and  the 


Dowx  on  the  shadowed  stream  of  time  and  tears, 
Voice  of  new  grief  and  grief  of  ancient  years  —  • 
Sad  as  when  first  from  loving  lips  'twas  sighed  — 
"  Haclst  Thou  been  here,  my  brother  had  not  died." 

Comfort  us,  Lord,  who  heardst  poor  Martha's  plaint, 
Heal  the  sore  heart,  uplift  the  spirit  faint— 
O  Thou,  the  Peace  that  cometh  after  strife  ! 
O  Thou,  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life  ! 

Why  didst  Thou  take  the  love  we  leaned  on  so  ? 

We  know  not,  but.  hereafter  we  shall  know. 

Speaks  now  our  faith,  through  tears  Thou  wilt  not  chide, 

"  Most  wert  Thou  here  when  our  beloved  died." 


Credo 


a  Okave  on 


/;/  Resurrectionem  Mortuorum. 


I  KNOW  the  sling  of  death — its  victory — 

Since  one  more  dear  than  mine  own  life  is  dead  ; 

And  I  can  never  more  be  comforted, 

Whatever  love  may  come  in  years  to  be, 

Till  God  give  back  what  Death  has  wrenched  from  me. 

Yet,  ye  would  slay  my  hope.     Who  was  it  said 

"  There  is  no  resurrection  for  such  dead, 

What  thou  hast  lost  hath  perished  utterly?" 

False  seer  !  my  dead  shall  live  again,  I  know. 
Those  eyes  once  oh,  so  kind  !  shall  smile  again  ; 
And  the  dear  hands  that  wrought  but  good  to  me, 
Hold  mine  in  warm  close  clasp.     I  can  forego 
Life's  solace,  and  be  patient  with  its  pain 
Until  the  day-break  and  the  shadows  flee. 


(27) 


3tot  out  of 


So  sad  in  life,  even  when  thy  lips  were  smiling, 
Those  comforting,  compassionate  eyes  of  thine  ; 

So  eloquent,  another's  pain  beguiling, 

"  Lo,  my  friend  grieves,  and  all  his  grief  is  mine." 

Who  knew  thee  came  to  thee  in  trust*  unbounded  — 

Was  ever  depth  thine  own  soul  had  not  sounded  ? 

I  wonder  is  it  joy  to  thee  in  Heaven, 

Oh,  loving,  helping,  giving  —  now  to  know 

The  love  and  grief  to  thy  dear  memory  given. 
Thou  art  not  gone  —  we  cannot  let  thee  go  — 

Beyond  our  reach—  ah  yes  !  —  and  crowned  with  light, 

But  still  in  sight  —  oh,  never  out  of  sight  ! 

And  shall  it  be  in  vain,  oh,  dear  befriender  ? 

Nay,  ours  the  blame,  if  thou  no  blessing  bring. 
Thou  art  unchanged  —  man-brave  and  woman-tender 

And  Christ-like  merciful  and  pitying. 
Look  with  remembering  eyes  to  God,  while  we 
Look  on  thee  and  grow  faintly  like  to  thee. 
(28) 


(The  grayer  of  St.  Bernard  of  (Hainwux. 

A    FREE    TRANSLATION. 

REMEMBER,  Mother,  throned  in  Heaven's  splendor, 
That  never  on  this  earth  has  it  been  said 

That  any  heart  which  sought  thy  pity  tender 
Was  left  uncomforted. 

So,  wearied  of  world-friendship's  changing  fashion, 
And  bankrupt  of  world-treasures  utterly, 

And  trusting  in  thy  mercy  and  compassion, 
I  come  at  last  to  thee. 

Why  name  to  thee  my  needs  in  my  entreating — 
Thou,  taught  in  human  hearts  by  the  Divine — 

Long  time  agone,  whjn  soft  His  Heart  was  beating, 
Fond  Mother,  close  to  thine  ! 

O  plead  with  Him  who  on  thy  breast  was  cherished, 
Sweet  sharer  in  the  world's  Redemption  Pain  ! 

O  let  it  not  be  said  that  I  have  perished, 
Where  none  came  yet  in  vain  ! 
(29) 


<f  hutch  of  the     acmt     eart. 


Lord,  to  Thy  glory  this  new-risen  shrine  ! 

We've  given  our  best  and  know  it  all  unmeet  — 
We'd  strew  our  lives  like  flowers  before  Thy  feet, 

And  still  be  Thy  glad  debtors,  Love  Divine. 

'Tis  ours  and  Thine  —  font,  bier  and  altar-throne  ; 
Our  best  of  earth  and  all  of  Heaven  meet  here  — 
Fair  bride,  sweet  child,  and  old  dead  mother  dear, 

The  sinner  shriven,  the  weak  to  saint's  strength  grown. 

All-Giver,  what  are  our  poor  gifts  to  Thee  ? 

And  what  are  we  that  Thou  shouldst  crave  our  love, 
And  prize  Thine  own  —  given  back  in  sign  thereof, 

As  father  with  his  childs'  gifts  tenderly  ! 

With  pity  for  our  poverty  atone, 

And,  even  as  Thy  Heart  hath  shared  our  grief, 
And  craved,  like  ours,  for  comfort  and  relief, 

Share  with  us  here,  our  love  hath  built  Thy  Throne. 


and  Xtty. 

SOMETIMES  a  dark  hour  cometh  for  us  who  are  bound   to 

bear 
The  burden  of  lowly  labor,  the  fetters  of  lowly  care. 

An  hour  when   the  heart  grows   sick  of  the  work-day's 

weary  round, 
Loathing  each    oft-seen    sight,   loathing    each    oft-heard 

sound  ! 

Loathing  our  very  life,  with  its  pitiful  daily  need, 
Learning  in  pain  and  weakness  that  labor  is  doom  indeed. 
And  this  the   meed    of  the   struggle— tent,   and   raiment 

and  bread  ? 
Oh  for  the  "  Requiescant,"  and  the  sleep  of  the  pardoned 

dead! 
Oh  the  visions  that  torture  and  tempt  us  (how  shall  the 

heart  withstand  !) — 
The  fountains    and  groves   and  grottoes  of   the  Godless 

Lotus-land  ! 

(3-) 


Oh  the  soft,  entreating  voices,  making  the  tired  heart  leap, 
"  Come  over  to    us,  ye   toilers,  and   we    will    sing   ye   to 
sleep." 

A  fatal  sleep,  I  trow  !  but  we  are  sad  unto  death, 
And  the  Lotus-flower  unmans  us  with  its  sweet  and  bane 
ful  breath. 

We  look  to   our   fellow-toilers — what   help,  what   comfort 

there  ? 
They're    bowed    by  the  self-same    burden,  beset    by  the 

self-same  snare. 

Falleth  the    ashen   twilight — meet    close   for    the    dreary 

day; 
Hark  to  the  chimes  from  the  church-tower  ! — but   we   are 

too  tired  to  pray. 

Ah,  God,  who  lovest  Thy  creatures,  sinful,  and  poor   and 

weak, 
Hear'st  prayer  in  the  tired  heart's  throbbing,  though  the 

lips  are  too  tired  to  speak  ? 


Is  this  Thy  answer?     Is  this  the  herald  of  Thy  peace? 
For  the  Lotus  withers  before  him,  the  songs  of  the  Syrens 
cease. 

And    the    palm-trees   and    the     grottoes,    fountains    and 

streamlets  bright, 
Waver  and  change   as    he    cometh,    then    fade   from   our 

weary  sight. 

He  is  worn  with  care  and  labor ;  he  is  garbed   in  lowliest 

guise, 
But  we  know  the  firm,  sweet  mouth,  and  the  brave,  brave, 

patient  eyes  ; 

And  we  know    the  shining    lilies — no  blooms   of  mortal 

birth— 
And  we  know  thee,  blessed  Joseph,  in  the  guise   that  was 

thine  on  earth. 


Thy  hands   are   hardened  with  toil,  but  they  have    toiled 

for  Him 

Upon  whose  bidding  waited  legions  of  Seraphim. 

(33) 


Thy  hands  have  trained  to  labor  the   hands  of  Him  who 

made  thee, 
Whose  strength    upbore   thy   weakness    when    thy  awful 

trust  dismayed  thee. 

Oh  lift  thy  hands  in  appealing  for  us  who,  unwilling,  bear 
The  burden  of  God's  beloved,  lowly  labor  and  care. 
Oh  pity  our  fruitless   tears,   to-night,  and  our  hearts  too 
tired  for  prayer  ! 


8/Vtttt. 

STAY,  thou  art  tired  ;  thy  Father  bids  thee  rest. 
Tarry  awhile  beneath  the  palm-trees'  shade, 
Eat  of  the  fruits  around  thee,  unafraid, 
Drink  of  the  limpid  stream  His  hand  hath  blest. 
After  the  sore,  sharp  struggle  comes  a  guest, 
Sweet  Peace,  with  respite  even  as  thoiWiast  prayed. 
Rest,  till  refreshed  and  with  new  strength  arrayed 
To  face  the  old-time  perils.     Short  at  best, 
This  welcome  truce.     Yet  linger  not,  but  swift, 
Go  forth  when  thou  art  summoned,  else  I  fear 
Thy  joy  will  turn  to  grief;  the  hot,  red  sand 
Over  the  delicate  flowers  will  drift  and  drift 
And  choke  the  stream,  now  purling  crystal  clear, 
And  change  the  garden  to  a  desert  land. 


(35) 


cf 


THE  shore's  in  sight,  the  shore's  in  sight  ! 

The  longed-for  lights  of  Home  1  see  ! 
I  sing,  for  very  heart's  delight  — 
And  you,  my  friend,  thro'  dark  and  bright, 

I  know  that  you  are  glad  for  me. 

It  was  a  stormy  voyage,  friend  :  — 

And  dare  I  dream  the  worst  is  o'er  ? 
Drear  presages  of  hapless  end 
Dismay  me  not  ;  —  yet  Heaven  defend  ! 
Ships  have  gone  down  in  sight  of  shore. 


I  ought  to  be  afraid,  I  know, 

My  wayward  past  remembering  ; 

Yet,  calmly  into  port  I  go, 

Whose  "  Sursum  corda  "  cheers  me  so 
How  is  it  I  am  fain  to  sing  ? 


Is  it  because  my  Mother  stands — 

The  Virgin-Mother,  fair  and  wise — 
Just  where  the  waves  break  on  the  sands, 
Reaching  to  me  her  welcoming  hands, 
Lifting  to  God  her  praying  eyes  ? 


O  friend,  I'm  drifting  from  your  sight— 

The  Home-lights  brighten  momently— 
Yet  lift  once  more  your  signal-light, 
In  answer  to  my  last  good-night, 
And  tell  me  you  are  glad  for  me  ! 


SWEET,  oh  sweet,  the  voice  that  calling 

My  reluctant  soul  enthralling 

\Yith  unearthly  melody — 
Now  in  sleeping  as  in  waking. 
Through  my  dreams  its  music  breaking, 

Seemeth  thus  to  say  to  me  : 

Leave,  oh  leave,  thy  girlhood's  dreaming. 

Leave  the  bright  world's  changeful  seeming- 
Drop  life's  many-colored  woof; 

Leave  the  flowers  of  love  to  wither, 

I  have  called — oh  hasten  hither — 
Leave  thy  father's  sheltering  roof  ! 

Come,  beloved,  I  will  lead  thee, 

And  with  food  from  Heaven  feed  thee, 

In  the  desert  waste  and  drear  ; 
From  the  noontide  heats  I'll  shield  thee, 
At  my  word  the  rock  will  yield  thee, 

Living  water  cool  and  clear. 
(38) 


Did  I  ever  aught  to  grieve  thee, 
Did  thy  hope  in  me  deceive  thee  ? 

Now  I  call  thee,  but  in  vain  ! 
From  mine  arms  in  fear  thou  fleest, 
In  the  love  that  claims  thee,  seest 

Life-long  fetters,  life-long  pain. 

O  beloved,  why  delayest  ? 

Still  I  call,  and  still  thou  strayest, 

Wearily,  so  wearily — 
And  with  pitiful  endeavor, 
Seekest  rest  that  never,  never, 

Wilt  thou  find  except  in  me ! 


f>or  a   NIDI'  s  Profession. 

YEA,  vanquished  am  I — thralled  at  last,  and  bound  ! 

Vain,  vain  to  strive  against  the  Strong — all  vain 

The  toil,  the  tears,  the  weariness,  the  drain 

Of  hot  heart's  blood  from  many  a  cruel  wound — 

Lost,  lost  for  Earth  and  Heaven  !     But  lo  !  I've  found- 

I,  a  veiled  captive  in  His  triumph  train, 

Joy  that  effaceth  memory  of  pain. 

"  Thy  days,"  the  world  said,  "  run  in  dreary  round  ; 

Nought  hast  thou  gained,  but  much  hast  forfeited. 

Art  thou  not  fain — speak  true  ! — again  to  be 

Unfettered  on  the  flower-strewn  pathway  broad  ?  " 

"  Ah,  tighten  these  dear  bonds,''  I  shuddering  said— 

'•  My  Conqueror,  but  not  mine  Enemy, 

Nay,  but  my  Friend  of  friends,  my  King,  my  God  !  " 


(40) 


"  Lcctatus  sum  in  his  quce  dicta  stint  mi/ii  :  domitm  Domini 
ibimus" 

THOU  hast  pitied  my  heart's  great  needing, 
Thou  hast  stooped  to  my  low  estate, 

And  opened  unto  my  pleading 
The  long-sealed  beautiful  gate. 

Through  the  wilds  of  gloom  and  sadness, 
Thou  hast  been  my  guide  and  guard, 

Into  the  light  and  gladness 

Of  the  courts  of  Thy  House,  O  Lord. 

Why  should  I  fear  or  falter 

Under  a  roof  so  blest  ? 
Here,  near  Thy  holy  Altar, 

Surely  Thy  child  may  rest. 

Here  in  Thy  House  it  encleth 
My  quest  that  was  erst  so  vain, 
(40 


For  the  Spirit  of  Peace  descendeth, 
Stilling  the  olden  pain. 

In  Thy  House,  my  Father,  never 
Is  grief  that  burns  and  stings, 

Nor  the  anguish  of  lost  endeavor, 

Nor  the  shadow  that  chills  and  clings. 

For  Thy  love  makes  rest  of  labor, 
And  gain  of  the  bitterest  loss, 

And  the  glory  and  joy  of  Thabor, 
In  the  shade  of  the  drearest  Cross. 


I  HAD  a  lovely  pearl-^-a  wondrous  one — 
The  rarest,  purest  pearl  in  all  the  land. 

Oh,  my  dim  eyes  that  saw  not  how  it  shone ! 

I  dropped  it  in  the  dust,  nor  mourned  it  gone; 
But  kissed  the  flaunting  flowers  in  my  hand. 

To-day — oh,  late  and  vain  or  tears  or  prayer ! 

Oh,  late  and  vain,  lost  pearl,  my  fondest  quest ! 
Though  now,  at  last,  I  know  thee  radiant  fair, 
And  now  I  know  thee  sweet  beyond  compare — 

Now  that  thou  shinest  on  another's  breast. 


(43) 


O  SHINING  meek  and  shining  bright, 

An  Altar-Lamp,  indeed  ! 
With  ready,  tender,  helpful  light 

For  groping  wanderer's  need. 

Without  the  temple-walls  he  stands, 

His  heart  is  sore  with  sin ; — 
Through  pictured  saints'  outreaching  hands 

Thou  beckonest  him  within. 

Into  the  House  of  Christ  the  Lord, 
The  wanderer's  rest  from  roaming — 

O 

Where  robe  and  ring  and  festive  board 
Await  his  longed-for  coming. 

Sweet  beacon-light,  what  joy  is  thine  ! 

I  breathe,  in  far-off  greeting  ;— 
So  near,  so  near  the  Heart  Divine, 

Thou  tremblest  with  its  beating. 
(44) 


More  joy  to  thee  will  yet  be  given, 
When  comes  the  Eternal  Rest ; — 

Christ's  Altar-Lamp  on  earth,  in  Heaven 
A  star  upon  His  breast. 

There,  shining  meek  and  shining  bright, 

Wilt  know,  O  fair  and  dear  ! 
How  many  a  Heavenward-leading  light, 

Thy  flame  enkindled  here  ? 


O  LONG-LOST  friend,  what  have  I  harvested 

Of  thy  youth's  bloom  and  mine,  with  its  delight 

Of  love  and  laughter  and  fore-runnings  bright  ? 

Not  peace,  not  hope,  but  life-long  pain  instead. 

Sometimes  this  sleepeth,  till  I  dream  it  dead— 

When  lo  !  a  word,  a  look,  a  soft-drawn  breath, 

And  into  fullest  life  it  wakeneth, 

Ah,  me  !  unrested  and  uncomforted 

For  all  its  sleep.     How  could  I  let  thee  stray 

Into  the  vale  of  death,  thy  torch  unlit, 

And  mine  ablaze  that  might  have  kindled  it  ? 

Oh,  what  befell  thee  on  that  fearsome  way  ? 

And  oh,  what  greeting  would  be  thine  to  me 

Could  thy  voice  reach  me  from  eternity  ? 


(46) 


HE  came  unto  His  own,   but    His   own  they  knew   Him 

not. 
Were    the  portents   all  misread?      Were  the   prophecies 

forgot  ? 
For    the   Mother-Maid    no   mother    opened   her    door    in 

pity- 
No  room  for  David's  Heir  in  the  homes  of  David's  City— 
The  herald  Star  unnoted,  the  angels'  song  unheeded  ; 
The  Lord  of  all   with  His  creatures   in  vain  for   shelter 

pleaded. 

HE  came  unto  His  own — but  ah !  they  looked  for  a  King 

With  armies  and  waving  banners  and  thunders  of  triumph 
ing, 

To  smite  His  people's  foes  from  the  face  of  the  shuddering 
earth  ! — 

What  !  this  the  Promised,  the  Long-Desired,  this  Babe  of 
humblest  birth — 

(47) 


No  babe   was   lowlier  cradled  since   ever  the   first   drew 
breath — 

Ah,  me  !  in  scorn  rejected — veiled  Lord  of  life  and  death  ! 
Just  Heaven  !  and  we  dare  to  chide  them  !     Are  we  wiser, 

keener-eyed, 
Less  prone  to  measure   the  ways  of  God  with   the   little 

line  of  our  pride  ? 
Now,  as  of  old,  Christ  comes  to  His   own,  and    His  own 

receive  Him  not, 
Through   the  crowded   city  streets   He   fares,  seeking  a 

resting  spot. 
If  the  King  but  came  in  His  beauty,  we   had   found  His 

coming  sweet, 

And  strewed  our  prized  and  precious  things  in  the  path 
way  of  His  feet. 
But  to  know  Him    in    His   lowliest — in   the   orphan  child 

forlorn, 
The    crippled    beggar,    the    outcast,    whom     the    untried 

virtuous  scorn — 
Ah  !  this  is  test  and  touchstone — thrice   blessed  he  who 

stands — 


He  shall  laugh   in   the   latter   day,   with   the   Kingdom's 

keys  in  his  hands. 
We  open  hearts  and  homes  to  Thee.     Oh,  make  us  brave 

and  wise  ! 

And   strengthen,  on   this   Christmas  Eve,  our  dim,  short 
sighted  eyes, 

That    we    may   know  Thee,  Lord,  whate'er  Thy    sad 
strange  disguise  1 


"  fe  did  it  untci  pe.» 

WE  read  the  sad,  sweet  story  of  the  life  of  Christ  on  earth, 
And    murmur    through    fast-Mowing     tears,    "  Ah,    Lord, 

Thou'd  hadst  no  dearth 

Of  all  our  love  could  yield  Thee,  had  only  we  been  there  ! 
Our  homes,  our  hearts,  our  labor's  fruit — what  joy  with 

Thee  to  share." 

We  read  the  sad,  sweet  story — "  Whate'er  ye  do  "  (saith 

He) 

"  To  the  least  of  these,  My  little  ones,  ye  do  it  unto  Me  ;  " 
But    we  somehow  miss    its  meaning,   and    somehow   we 

forget 
That,  in  His  homeless  little  ones,  Christ  walks  among  us 

yet. 

In  them  He  suffers  hunger,  in  them  He  is  a-weary, 
In  them  is  cold  and  shelterless,  astray  in  by-ways  dreary. 
Shall  we  go  peaceful,  happy,  nor  fear  a  taint  of  sin, 
While  we  ope  no  door  in  pity  to  let  the  Christ-Child  in  ? 

(50) 


Go,   spread    your  wings,   sweet  angel,   bright  messenger 

from  Heaven  ! 

Go,  whisper  unto  every  heart  the  gracious  promise  given  ; 
Christ  judgeth  not  by  honors,  world-fame,  or  gold  or  glory — 
List  to  the  solemn  warning  of  the  holy  Gospel  Story  : 

What  time  ye  stand  before  Him  in  the   awful   judgment 

day 
When   Earth    and   Heaven,  fire-tried,   like  a  scroll    have 

rolled  away, 

They  pass,  but  He  remaineth,  and  this  your  test  shall  be, 
"  As  ye  did  unto  the  least  of  Mine,  so  did  ye  unto  Me." 


(The  Veil. 


I  THOUGHT  that  white  veil  hid  a  sacred  shrine  ; 
I  thought  it  hid  the  white  flame  that  can  rise 
Only  from  fire  of  purest  sacrifice 
Lit  from  the  Lord's  own  Altar.     It  was  mine 
To  dream  fair  tracery  of  sheaf  and  vine 
Upon  that  baffling  veil  which  jealously 
Shrouded  —  Ah,  what  of  holiness  ?  —  Ah,  me  ! 
How  many  a  blessed  day  did  rise  and  shine 
On  my  vain  dreaming.  —  Well,  I  dream  no  more 
Of  victim,  altar-fire,  and  sanctuary  ; 
I  hear  no  more  sweet  anthems  for  the  wail 
Of  my  awakened  heart  repenting  sore. 
O  bitter  fruit  of  knowledge  !     Woe  is  me  ! 
Would  God  that  I  had  never  rent  the  veil  ! 


(the 

How  is  the  fine  gold  dimmed,  the  kingly  purple  faded — 
The    light  of   the  sun  in  the    midday    heaven  by    mists 

malign  o'ershaded  ! 
The    stones   of  the  temple   scattered — the   gems   of   the 

inner  shrine 

Trodden    down   in   the   mire,  and   the    sacred    cups    pro 
faned  with  the  heathen's  wine  ! 
I   thought  I  had  died   to   see   it,   but   that    was  when   I 

forgot 
The  Strength  that  is  Almighty,  and   the  Love  that  sleep- 

eth  not. 
Now  I  rest  in  His  arms  unfearing  ;  in  Him  is  my  heart's 

trust. 
The  sun   will    pierce    thro'   the  poison-mists,  the  gold  is 

under  the  rust ; 
And  the   stones  and  the   gems   re-gathered,  a  temple  far 

more  fair 
Than  the  one  I  loved,  will  arise  at  last  to  the  patience  of 

my  prayer. 

(53) 


gill. 


FVE  borne  full  many  a  sorrow,  I've  suffered  many  a  loss  — 
But  now,  with    a    strange,  new    anguish,  I   carry  this  last 

dread  cross  ; 

For  of  this  be  sure,  my  dearest,  whatever  thy  life  befall, 
The   cross    that    our  own  hands  fashion    is  the  heaviest 

cross  of  all. 

Heavy  and  hard  I  made  it  in  the  days  of  my  fair  strong 

youth, 
Veiling  mine     eyes    from  the  blesse'd  light,    and  closing 

my  heart  to  truth. 

Pity  me,  Lord,  whose  mercy  passeth  my  wildest  thought, 
For  I  never  dreamed   of   the    bitter  end  of  the   work   my 

hands  had  wrought  ! 

In  the  sweet  morn's  flush  and  fragrance  I  wandered  o'er 

dewy  meadows, 
And  I  hid  from  the  fervid  noontide  glow  in  the  cool,  green, 

woodland  shadows  ; 

(54) 


And  1  never  recked  as  I  sang  aloud  in  my  wilful,  selfish 

glee, 
Of  the  mighty  woe  that  was  drawing  nigh   to  darken   the 

world  for  me. 

But  it  came  at  last,  my  dearest, — what   need  to   tell   thee 

how  ? 
Mayst  never  know  of  the  wild,  wild  woe  that  my  heart  is 

bearing  now  ! 

Over  my  summer's  glory  crept  a  damp  and  chilling  shade, 
And   I  staggered  under   the  heavy  cross  that  my  sinful 

hands  had  made. 

I  go  where  the  shadows  deepen,  and  the  end  seems  far 

off  yet— 
God  keep  thee   safe  from  the  sharing  of  this  woful  late 

regret  ! 

For  of  this  be  sure,  my  dearest,  whatever  thy  life   befall, 
The  crosses  we  make  for  ourselves,  alas  !  are  the  heaviest 

ones  of  all. 


(55) 


(Thorn. 


—  "  Where  the  winter  thorn 
Blossoms  at  Christmas,  mindful  of  Our  Lord.' 

FOR  your  sorrowful  Christmas  Day 
What  word  can  I  dream  or  say, 
That  will  not  mock  the  desolate  house  where  you  sit  and 

grieve  apart  ; 

Or  whence  you  look,  I  know 
On  thorn  and  flint  and  snow, 

While  the  worst  of  the  thorns,  ah  me  !  are  sheathed  in  your 
bleeding  heart. 

Oh,  I  mind  one  Christmas  night  — 
A  long-ago  delight  — 
When  together  we   smiled  or  sighed  over  stories   quaint 

and  old  ; 

And  that  of  the  winter  thorn 
A-bloom  on  Christmas  morn, 

Comes  back  to  me  to-night  as  the  sweetest  ever  told. 

(56) 


Oh,  you  will  not  shrink  to  hear 
The  word  that  it  gives  me,  clear, 
For  the  empty  house  and  the  desolate  heart,  and  the  tears 

that  must  have  way  : 
"  This  the  poor  thorn's  renown, 

I  made  the  only  crown 

That  He  ever  wore  on  earth,  who  is  Lord  of  the  Christmas 
Day. 

And  I  blossom  on  Christmas  morn, 
Remembering  He  was  born 
With  the  heart  of  man  to  suffer  and  the  hands  of  God  to 

heal. 

Oh  joy,  for  the  barren  places, 
The  dreary,  storm-swept  spaces, 

Where  the  sudden  flower  and  vine  will  the  paths  of  His 
feet  reveal." 


Sad  heart,  whatever  I  do, 
I  cannot  comfort  you, 

For  through  mine  own  tears  I  see  the  light  of  the  Christ 
mas  morn. 

(57) 


And  so,  my  sweetest  friend, 
The  only  word  I  send 

Must  be   cheer  for  you  and  me  alike — the  word  of 
Christmas  thorn. 


the 


AH  !  know  what  true  success  is.     Young  hearts  dream, 

Dream  nobly,  and  plan  loftily,  nor  deem 

That  length  of  years  is  length  of  living.     See  ! 

A  whole  life's  labor  in  an  hour  is  done  ; 

Not  by  world-tests  the  Heavenly  crown  is  won— 

the  pan  i£  u'hat  he  wewt£  to  be. 


(59) 


the  d&mght  of 


HE  gave  a  world  to  men  — 
What  word  of  mortal  ken 
Immortal  praise  best  saith, 
Oh,  praise  the  Knight  of  Faith  ! 

"  Oh,  for  a  shorter  way," 

Cried  the  men  of  pillage  and  fray, 
"  To  the  unsearched  Ind  afar, 

Where  the  treasures  of  ages  are. 

"  A  short  way  thither  must  be," 
Spake  Columbus  steadfastly, 

"  And  its  perils  I  will  dare 
For  a  prize  beyond  compare. 

"  To  more  than  ye  dream  or  name 
I  will  trace  a  way  of  flame, 
Oh,  quest  of  the  Crucified  ! 
Oh,  souls  for  whom  He  died  ! 

(60) 


And  well  may  the  diamond  shine, 
And  the  red  gold  in  the  mine  ; 
For  a  pledge  in  my  hands  they'll  be 
Christ's  Sepulchre  to  free." 

Oh,  the  way  to  the  Land  Unseen 
Is  the  Way  of  the  Cross,  I  ween. 
Seeking  it,  youth  was  spent, 
Seeking  it,  manhood  bent. 

Seeking  it  long  years,  came 
Little  but  scorn  and  blame, 
The  taunt  and  the  bitter  word — 
The  pain  of  hope  deferred. 

But  vain  to  quench  or  dim 
The  fire  in  the  heart  of  him 
Whose  way  to  the  Land  Afar 
Was  lit  by  God's  own  Star. 

Not  to  far  Ind,  great  soul ! 
Thine  was  a  grander  goal, 
Meet  for  the  grandest  faith, 
Say  it  with  fearless  breath, 
(61) 


Since  theirs,  who  followed  from  far 
The  Lord  Christ's  wonderful  Star, 
Lighting  and  guiding  them 
Till  it  stood  at  Bethlehem. 

Not  thine  to  free  Christ's  Tomb, 

But  Christ's  people — through  the  gloom 

Thy  path  for  the  feet  of  Faith 

To  the  souls  that  sat  in  death. 

Thine  to  plant,  with  flag  unfurled, 
The  Cross  on  the  fair  New  World, 
And  the  fruit  of  that  seed  to  be 
Earth's  noblest  liberty. 


(62) 


fn 


AT  last  !  at  last  !  Oh  joy  !  Oh  victory  ! 
But  not  to  me,  my  God,  ah,  not  to  me, 
But  to  Thy  Name  the  praise,  the  glory  be  ! 

At  last  !  at  last  !  but  when  was  prayer  unheeded  ? 

And    more    wouldst    Thou    have   given,   had   more  been 

needed, 
For  purer  lips  than  mine  my  cause  have  pleaded. 

O  trust,  that  trembled  -on  the  verge  of  failing  ! 

0  timid  heart,  at  shadowy  terrors  quailing  ! 
Spending  thyself  in  conflict  unavailing  ! 

Dear  God,  forgive  !  my  fears  are  shamed  to  flight  ; 
O'ershadowed  by  Thy  mercy  and  Thy  might, 

1  rest,  in  humble-hearted,  still  delight. 

Oh  teach  me  song  to  praise  Thee  gladsomely, 
Whose  strong  hands  cleared  the  tangled  way  for  me, 
And  saved  me  from  the  snares  I  could  not  flee  ! 

(63) 


Fain  would  I  linger  under  skies  so  fair, 

Too  happy  here,  Lord,  in  my  answered  prayer, 

To  reck  what  stars  are  shining  otherwhere. 


THE    END. 


*^j^^^ 


"UsTfer 

7 


NO.  DD6 


U  I 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


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dr 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


